


USS Altea

by bluphacelia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, liminal space, podcast au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/pseuds/bluphacelia
Summary: "Now," the voice was back, low and deep, straight into the microphone. "It is time for the next segment of—" there is a pregnant pause,"Voltron."An airy space tune fills the room, and Keith watches the radio, mesmerized. Is this what it feels like to be pulled into a cheesy mid-centuryWar of the Worlds-style radio drama?"It is day one-hundred and fifty nine of the Voltron mission, hosted by yours truly—The Tailor. I am speaking to you from the comms room of the USS Altea. We are still safely orbiting around the good Balmera. Ground crews landed on the planet safely yesterday and were able to converse with the natives. Still no sign of the Red Lion.---aka. Keith happens upon a late-night radio podcast





	USS Altea

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally written for the Aphelion Zine back in July. It has now been the allotted time and I'm allowed to post this!
> 
> I had a great time working on that zine. Met a lot of cool people. Thank you for letting me in on that!

An old FM radio sits in the corner of the otherwise pristine mechanics lab. The choice for the night had been Pidge's, and they'd happened to pick up an unofficial local broadcast earlier in the day. It started off as pure curiosity, but after they'd seen how every single bubbly pop song made Keith wince, they refused to change the channel no matter how many times he'd asked.

The clock on the wall crawls closer to eleven thirty. Keith taps his thumb against the cheap desk, thoughts flickering between his thesis, training, work, not wanting to stop and settle on anything concrete. Time slows, but eventually, Pidge throws their metaphorical gloves in the ring and gives up for the night. They pack their bags, papers haphazardly stuffed between binders, and with a hasty goodbye, they slink back home to one of those old colonial houses built right on campus--the perks of having a professor for a father. 

Keith stands, chair scraping behind him as he makes his way toward the radio. It spits out static, a bang which turns into a series of voices just out of earshot. They edge closer, the muffled tones turning into two people exchanging pleasantries as the broadcast changes and then all the sounds die down.

"Welcome back," a brand new voice hits the airwaves right as Keith is ready to turn the radio off. "It is once again, Thursday, closing in on midnight. Some of you would call it—the witching hour."

There is a loud howl of wind, the sound clipping near the end as it's interrupted by a crow cawing through the speakers. The broadcast cuts off with a laugh and a hushed whisper before there is an audible click of a closing door.

"Now," the voice was back, low and deep, straight into the microphone. "It is time for the next segment of—" there is a pregnant pause,"Voltron."

An airy space tune fills the room, and Keith watches the radio, mesmerized. Is this what it feels like to be pulled into a cheesy mid-century _War of the Worlds_ -style radio drama?

"It is day one-hundred and fifty nine of the Voltron mission, hosted by yours truly—The Tailor. I am speaking to you from the comms room of the USS Altea. We are still safely orbiting around the good Balmera. Ground crews landed on the planet safely yesterday and were able to converse with the natives. Still no sign of the Red Lion.

"What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room, dear listeners. We've made contact with a new alien life-form. We don't know who they are or what they do, but everyone is excited beyond belief. Commander Allura has deemed it a level five threat, which of course means eyes-only level stuff. They have docked on the other side of the moon and we've gotten glimpses of very big guns—"

There's a new voice on the air. Female, angry. "Tailor! I thought I told you to clean out the observation deck! I clearly marked it for you on the chart this morning!"

A pause, then a click resonates through the radio, and the first voice is back, hushed. "Sorry about the wait, dear listeners. I seem to have been derailed from my previous story by our lovely Commander Allura. There seem to be some ‘ _duties_ ’ assigned to me in an undisclosed place in an undisclosed fashion, so I'm hiding out in storage locker three—"

There's a chirp, and Keith twists around to look at his computer, happily powering down as the battery dies. He shoots up from the couch he's inadvertently sat on while engrossed with the broadcast. His eyes shoot to the clock above the door, and a curse slips through his teeth. He'd somehow lost over twenty minutes, listening to the broadcast. The radio cuts off mid sentence as it's turned off. The next thirty seconds are consumed by a medley of gathering things and pulling on his coat as he sprints out of the lab. He locks the door behind him and dashes down the corridor.

The mechanics lab, where he spends most of his time, is located on the new side of the campus, which is usually the best place to be. It has all the perks, like the new cafe being right downstairs and the library a two minute walk away, but it also meant it was the furthest away from the bus stop sequestered by the Victorian freshman dorms. 

The bus stop is empty as he skids to a halt, nearly running into the glass shelter: suspiciously empty. He pulls out his phone, hand trembling as he opens it. It reads, 00:47. 

Three minutes before the last bus, allegedly. He shoves his phone back into his pocket, arms tucked into his armpits as he waits. Seconds slip by, but the road is devoid of life.

"Fuuuck!" a voice shouts from behind, the single word stretched out and followed by a litany of curses. Keith glances back at a figure rushing toward the bus stop, coat bunched up in one hand, the other clutching a half empty backpack, straps trailing on the ground.

"I didn't miss it, did I?" the stranger gasps between puffs of air as he slows down, panting, hands on his knees.

"I haven't seen it," Keith replies, eyes scanning the darkness. The stranger coughs, and Keith looks down at his phone again. "It's twelve fifty-three. I don't know if it's gonna come."

"Damn it," comes the retort, and the man straightens up. "Lost track of time." He laughs. The voice sounds oddly familiar. "You too?"

"I. . .got distracted," Keith admits, stepping to the side and watches the man struggle with his coat and bag. "Here, let me." He motions at the bag. The man gives it up easily enough, a relieved sigh erupting from his lungs as he manages to pull his coat on, a hidden scarf discarded and shoved back into the backpack as Keith hands it over.

"Just my luck," he mutters, eyes trailing to the end of the street, still devoid of headlights, backpack slipping on his shoulder. 

And it clicks. 

The reason the voice was so familiar is because Keith had just spent the better part of an hour listening to it. A version of it anyway.

"You're a student here?" Keith hears himself ask and finally gets a good look at the Communications Officer Tailor, or whatever his real name is.

"Yeah! You?" he returns the question. Keith nods and gets a grin in return. "The name’s Lance. It's my last year. Mostly trying to figure out what to do with my life."

Keith gives a noncommittal shrug.

"You?" Lance prods.

"Grad student," Keith admits, pulling at the strap of his messenger bag, where it proceeds to dig into his shoulder.

"Fancy! Major?" 

"Eh," Keith starts, not quite sure if he wants to say.

"That's not a major." Another cheeky grin. "I'm doing sound engineering. You know, broadcasts and stuff. It's a lot of fun. Maybe I'll get a real show someday. National Television could use someone as handsome as me!"

Keith scoffs, trying his best not to roll his eyes at this very noisy stranger, but he can't resist the urge to ask, "Did you have a show today?" There's a pause. "I think I heard you on the radio." 

Lance gives him a surprised look, eyes blinking owlishly, and Keith shakes his head. "I mean my friend just picked up your channel. I think. Is that normal? I don't really know how that stuff works—" Keith cuts himself off. He’s rambling, what is wrong with him?

"You listened to my show?" Lance asks. The look of awe on his face is too much, and Keith has to look away. His eyes are back to the darkened street, still annoyingly empty.

"I'm so glad! Did you like it? Have you listened to it before? I mean, it's kinda difficult to find if you don't know where to look, but I have been giving out these fliers." Lance digs into his bag and pulls out a rumpled piece of paper with a starship on the front. "The show's called Voltron Mission. I write most of it, with the help of a couple friends." He thrusts the paper at Keith, who can't come up with an excuse fast enough to refuse, so he ends up taking it. He smooths it out, eyes trailing on the text.

"I do it weekly. Kinda like a podcast. Parts of it are live, and the rest taped ‘cause most people don't enjoy being on campus at midnight on a Thursday. I also tape the whole thing too, so you can listen to it after, but it's more fun doing it live. I then go back and fix some things if I have to but—and you don't actually care about any of this do you? I just get so excited when I find a listener." Lance laughs zipping up his bag again. "How'd you like it?" He gives Keith a short glance before going back to looking for the nonexistent bus.

"It was… good," Keith has to admit, even though gritting out the word was almost painful. He watches Lance's face light up and is ready for the onslaught of words, but they never come, just eyes eager to hear more.

"And?" Lance finally prompts, nudging Keith's arm. Keith shrugs and pulls out his phone. It’s already past one. The bus has definitely come and gone.

"It was good," Keith repeats. "I don't think the bus is going to come. I'm just going to walk to the main road to see if I can catch the night bus. See ya."

"No, wait a tick!" Lance follows. "You're probably right. I'll just stick with you for a bit if you don't mind. I really should have tried for an earlier time slot ‘cause this happens every other week! But it was the only time they had available in the recording studio."

"Sure, suit yourself," Keith replies, speeding up a tiny bit, only for Lance to match him step for step.

"But for real, what did you think? Do you think the ending was a bit much? I mean—trade secret—but I usually base my characters off people I know and stuff that happens in real life. It's just easier that way. Finding inspiration for a space voyage from reality! Reality is stranger than fiction, after all!" The words flow from the other man, wrapping the damp dark in brightly colored ribbons of sound, floating past Keith. He's not quite sure what to do. Pidge never talks this much. No one in his TA classes talk to him, period.

"Wait, wait! I know a shortcut to the main road! It's just over this way." Lance pulls at Keith's arm to get his attention before pulling out his phone. He taps on the flashlight and bounces off the road, down into the ditch and into the forest. "Come on! It's, like, at least ten minutes faster this way!"

Keith looks at the road, then turns his head to look at the ditch and beyond into the dark woods. Lance stands on the other side, motioning him to follow, a huge grin splitting his face. He stands at the beginning of a small path that winds into the darkness. Keith looks back at the dark road before he pulls out his phone to follow.

"Okay, so this is clearly an alien planet," Lance starts as Keith gets across safely. "An alien planet we've come to investigate. Be very, very careful now! You don't want to spook the wildlife." His tone suddenly pitches low, and he peers into the darkness. He waves his hand and puts his finger to his lips. He winks.

"You always have to be super careful at planets like this, the atmosphere is so thick we can't do a proper scan from the ship," Lance stage whispers at Keith. "You never know what you'll find!"

"Are you always like this?" Keith asks, trying to keep his face placid as Lance hides behind a tree only to peer ahead, full on military-style.

" _Shhh, sh, sh_!" Lance shushes as he waves him behind another tree, keeping his eyes on the surrounding dark. "There might be dangerous wildlife! I mean alien life!" Lance looks back at Keith standing on the path. He raises a questioning eyebrow, and Keith has to suppress an eyeroll, but complies, pseudo hiding behind Lance.

They continue down the path, Lance leading the way in a zigzag line dashing from tree to tree. The ground turns muddy, the foliage gets sparser, and Lance keeps on narrating. That's when Lance slips. His foot goes from under him as he steps, arms windmilling, hand shooting out to clutch at Keith for balance. Keith steadies him purely on instinct, and the sudden silence is deafening. Until the audible splash.

"Dammit." Lance wavers as he tries to find his balance. His phone is gone. "You okay?" 

"Of course, but your phone!" Keith turns his flashlight onto the ground in front of Lance. A soft light twinkles from the mud and blinks once before turning off. Lance makes a grab for the device before it's swallowed up by darkness, scraping the worst of the mud off with his fingers.

"Here." Keith pulls out some paper napkins he'd stashed from lunch, handing them over. Lance wipes away what he can, but the phone stays dark.

"I don't think it's broken," Lance mutters. "It has a waterproof casing, so I think the battery just died." He turns around, hands grabbing hold of Keith's biceps. "It was an enemy EMP! Took out my suit! We have to get out of here before I run out of oxygen! Just another few hundred yards—I can already hear the engines of the ship!" His eyes gleam in the dim light of Keith's phone, but the effect is spoiled as he breaks into a grin. "You'll have to lead the way. Help me! I'm gonna die!"

Lance slumps against Keith, who takes a deep breath and pulls away enough walk in front of the other man. He feels a hand slip into his, and looking back, Lance gives him an innocent wide-eyed look. "You're too much," Keith mutters but doesn't let go. It's dark. He might slip again.

They walk, Lance narrating every sound and rustle, but he's right about one thing: Keith can already hear the road. The trees thicken once more, and soon enough, they pop through the thicket onto the main road leading away from the campus. The spotted streetlamps spill yellow light across the way, and Keith turns off his phone, battery nearly drained.

"And the two wandering paladins make it safely to the waygate!" Lance declares as he bounces into the street, arms stretched wide as he takes in the view.

"You're ridiculous," Keith laughs, tugging at his gloves. There's dried mud spread across the hand that had been in Lance's. He tugs it off.

"And I got you safely through the forbidden forest." Lance turns with a flourish, which ends in a bow. 

There's a loud honk. It’s close, and suddenly, a set of headlights hits them dead on. Keith feels the glove slip from his hand as he leaps forward, fingers grabbing onto Lance's jacket. He yanks as hard as he can. They stumble, Lance hits Keith's chest, and they fall into the thicket. The car races past with another honk of its horn.

There's a sharp jolt of pain in Keith's back, and he feels needles poking against his exposed neck. He can feel the heavy weight of Lance, pressed against him. A sudden shudder of breath brushes his cheek, and there is a painful twinge in his chest as his heart rate speeds up.

"You okay?" Keith breathes, feeling his heart in his throat. There's a soft sting that settles into his muscles and an ache in the arm he'd used to brace their fall.

Another breath, and blue eyes meet gray just inches away. "I'm fine." Lance pushes off and slumps down on the ground heavily, knees up as he leans back onto his hands, panting. "Holy flying ghost monsters!"

"Don't you mean aliens?" Keith asks. He stands, dusting his clothes. The mud clings to his jeans from the fall, and he can feel the damp penetrating the material.

"Yes, ghost aliens. I nearly died!" Lance flops down, arms and legs stretched out, not caring where he landed. "You saved my life, dude."

"Don't be so melodramatic. You could have just broken every bone in your body and still lived through it," Keith replies, hovering over Lance, who is very intent on ignoring him in favor of the sky. There's a moment as shadows play against his features, and he shifts his focus, blue eyes catching the dim light. Keith holds out his hand. Lance grabs hold and is pulled up.

"I think that's enough adventures for one night," Keith declares. He starts for the bus stop, pulling Lance along behind him.

"Alright," Lance accepts, his voice still shaky. They walk in silence, side by side. The air feels strange, muddled, but too soon, they stand in front of the bus stop.

As luck would have it, a few minutes later, headlights shine in the distance before a bus pulls to a stop. They climb on. Cards are pulled out and tapped against the reader. With a beep, they shuffle down the aisle and sit down. The bus is almost empty, but Lance doesn't hesitate as he slips to sit next to Keith. They ride in silence as though the last of their energy had finally been depleted. 

The bus halts and starts as it travels the familiar route, and soon enough, they hit Keith's stop. "I'm here," he says, and Lance lets him by.

"No, wait!" Lance springs up, eyes locked on Keith as he turns back to look. He's nearly at the opening doors. "I didn't catch your name!"

"Keith!" he yells back and with a wave, walks out into the night. 

* * *

It's pouring outside, the glass window panels weeping rivulets in its wake. Keith's thumb taps against the desk, fingers swirling against the woodgrain before tapping again. He'd taken the window seat this time, eyes fixed into the darkness, the single streetlight on the quad wavering in the torrential downpour.

"I don't want to go home," Pidge whines. They'd walked up behind him, watching the abysmal weather.

"At least you can sprint home. It's barely three blocks away," Keith mutters. "I have to walk—in _that_." He glances back at the weather, the disdain palpable in his words.

"I might just sleep in the lobby," Pidge says, arms folded across their chest.

"Or ask daddy to come pick you up with his fancy car?"

"Shut it."

They watch the rain in silence, hoping that it would magically cease to exist. Keith glances at the time. It's quarter to twelve. "Shouldn't you just. . .go? It's not going to let up any."

"Trying to get rid of me Keithy boy? I see how it is." Pidge doesn't budge. 

"I want to finally turn off that god awful music you love so much," Keith responds with a jerk of his head. It's not the radio this time. Instead, Pidge is streaming something off their computer—electronic and weird, the tone and melody changing every few beats. It was enough to drive a less patient man crazy.

Keith throws them a glare. "This is what headphones are for!"

Pidge laughs and pats his shoulder. "Alright, alright. I'll go home."

Keith looks up, a tad too quickly, eyes darting to the radio. He swallows and leans back. "I'll just finish this one bit," he lies, eyes cast on the glare of his monitor instead of the text within. He watches Pidge gather their things.

"You sure you don't want a ride? I asked Matt to pick me up. We can get you home."

"No, it's okay." Keith shrugs. He doesn't have a radio at home, and he's not risking getting caught carrying that old piece of junk. "I have a deadline, so I have to finish this."

"Your funeral. Enjoy getting soaked!" Pidge says as their phone pings, noting the arrival of the ever gracious Matt. With a terse goodbye, they walk out.

It's three minutes to twelve, and Keith nearly knocks over his chair as he makes his way to the radio and flips it on.

There's static, and for a full twenty seconds, he thinks the channel had changed, but then it sharpens, and a voice comes through.

"It is day one-hundred and sixty-six of the Voltron mission, hosted by yours truly, the Tailor. I am speaking to you from the comms room of the USS Altea. And there has been some brand new developments this week! True developments. I think we are finally on the right track to finding the Red Paladin. The Red Lion herself is as allusive as ever, but her Paladin would be able to sense her presence for sure."

Keith sits down, eyebrows scrunched together, waiting.

"As you know, dear listeners, we've been searching for the Red Lion and her Paladin for a long time. Without all five lions, the whole mission is forfeit. Lost! But this week, I met someone. We'd landed on a foreign planet. The scans hadn't detected any dangerous life forms on the ground, so we continued forward.

"I'd been given a new partner. A new recruit from the garrison, so I had to test him out a bit. Make sure he was made of the right stuff! We'd just finished the mission when something happened. An enemy ship! Purple and firing lasers at us. The newbie threw himself on me, dragging me to safety!

"He'd saved my life! And as soon as he had, the mission was over, and we parted ways without so much as a proper goodbye. Alas, is this the end? I know he has the potential in him to become one of us! I hope I'll see him again. Even if the next mission happened on a planet where the atmosphere rained acid, and we had to run to make our shuttle off that wicked world. . ."

Keith listens as the story unfolds. It's half past midnight when he grabs his coat and sprints out into the rain and towards his next space adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end! Thank you for joining me on this ride!! You can find me: [tumblr](http://bluphacelia.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/blu_tweets). 
> 
> I'd also love prompts if anyone wants to throw me one, my inbox is always open!


End file.
